


I Need You

by BubbleGumLizard



Series: Mystrade NaNoWriMo 2015 [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Lestrade, Greg is Sweet, Heavy Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mycroft Whump, Physical Abuse, Protectiveness, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg meets a strange genius who has a talent for solving crimes.  More interesting, however, is the man's brother Mycroft, who is mysterious in a very sexy way.  The only problem is Mycroft's husband, who Greg is certain is abusive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **This work contains non-graphic depictions of physical abuse. It this subject is upsetting to you, please do not read this work.**
> 
> I'm so, so sorry for writing this. Please don't hate me for torturing our boys. 
> 
> This story gave me a bit of trouble, so some chapters are long and some are shorter and it took me forever to write. I hope everyone likes it!
> 
> If you want a break from my angst, you should definitely check out my fluffy [Christmas present](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5200283?view_full_work=true) from my best friend! She wrote it and had it printed and sent it to me. She doesn't normally write Mystrade. In fact, we have no overlapping fandoms and she doesn't even write M/M, but last year she wrote me Johnlock fluff and this year she wrote this. She's the best friend I could ever wish for and I'm so glad we met in Creative Writing class when we were fifteen.
> 
> Also, you should check out my [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/maebellesarah)

Greg Lestrade stretched his legs out and looked at his watch. He supposed that it was about time for him to get home. It was nearly eight o’clock and he had been working over twelve hours, all of it at his desk. He decided that a nice walk was in order. It had been a beautiful day, so he decided that he would walk home. It was a bit long, but he wasn’t working the next day and he wasn’t all that tired, just sore from not moving all day.

He set out cheerfully, enjoying the fresh air. Soon, however, it started to drizzle and he regretted his decision. He continued walking, weighing the cost of a cab against his discomfort. As he tried to figure out what he wanted to do, a man came stumbling out of the alley and ran directly into him. “I’ve got it!” the man said excitedly, grabbing Greg’s shoulders.

“Got what?” Greg asked. He peered into the alley, but he couldn’t see anything. He turned so that the nearest street lamp could give him a good look at the man and he realized that the man in front of him was completely covered in blood. 

Greg pulled out his phone and called Sally Donovan for some help. “Sir, I need you to calm down,” he said to the man, who was babbling, clearly out of his skull.

“I’ve got it. It was the shop owner. The shop owner did it because she was sick of neighborhood kids,” the man said.

“Did what? What did she do?”

The man pointed down the alley. Greg walked down it, keeping a tight grip on the man. At the very end, he saw the lifeless body of a teenage boy. He dropped to a knee to check for a pulse and then called Donovan to tell her what was going on.

He grabbed the man by the shoulder, looking in his eyes. “You did this?”

“No, of course not. I told you. The shop keeper. The shop keeper!” he shouted excitedly, trying to jump away.

Greg kept his grip, waiting impatiently for his team. Eventually, they had all arrived and had started processing the scene. Greg was standing next to a police car, where the strange man was sitting in the back seat. He hadn’t stopped mumbling the entire time they had been there. It soon became clear that this man, malnourished, high, and clearly mentally ill, had not been the one responsible for the crime.

His phone rang. He answered it and was dismayed to hear the voice of one of the higher ups, whose voice usually meant Greg had done something wrong.

“Good job, Lestrade,” the man said, surprising Greg.

“For what, sir?”

“For finding Holmes.”

“Holmes?”

“Don’t act stupid, Lestrade, it doesn’t suit you. His brother has been looking for him for years. It has been quite the family ordeal. He is quite pleased that you have found him. This means good things for your career, Lestrade. Now. A car is going to be there to collect you and Holmes shortly. You are to cooperate with everyone you meet. Again, good job.”

“Thank you, sir,” Greg said, extremely confused.

Sure enough, less than two minutes later a black car pulled up and a young woman got out of it. “I’ve come to get you, Detective Inspector,” she said with a smile.

Greg sighed and hauled the still mumbling man out of the car and pushed him into the black car, climbing in after him. The woman followed. Once they were all settled, she pulled out a Blackberry and didn’t speak again, no matter what questions Greg asked her.

Eventually they were deposited at a building and the woman led them inside, not helping when the strange man—Holmes, Greg supposed—slumped over and Greg had to practically carry him. Once inside the building, men who appeared to be aides of some sort took the man from Greg and Greg was shown into an office.

As he sat nervously waiting, Greg wondered what kind of office building this was. It looked particularly dull, so he figured that it was probably fantastically important.

An attractive man in a very nice suit entered the room. “Good evening, Detective Inspector,” the man said, sitting down.

“Good evening, mister…” Greg looked around for a name plate or something that would tell him the man’s name, but found nothing.

“Holmes,” the man supplied. “That was my brother you were unfortunate enough to meet. Lucky break for him, mind, and me. I have been searching for him.”

“So I gathered. I am not sure precisely why I am here, though,” Greg said with a frown.

“I wanted to extend to you my gratitude. My gratitude comes with particular benefits and I wanted to be clear that if you need anything from me, you will have it. Anything in the world, just call this number and let me know,” he said, handing Greg a card that said “Mycroft Holmes” and a number.

“Thank you,” Greg said, tucking the card into his wallet.

“And now, I will have a car take you home, where you may rest off this nasty business. I apologize for the inconvenience. Incidentally,” he had gathered himself up and stopped at the door, looking back at Greg, “was he right about the murder? Who committed it?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know yet. My team is still processing what happened.”

“Well, if can, send me a text at that number to let me know, I would appreciate it.”

***

The next day, Greg received word that it had indeed been a local shop keeper who committed the murder. He wasn’t surprised, he had known in his gut that the strange drug addict had been correct.

**Your brother was right about the murder. Greg Lestrade**

**Thank you. Let me know what you need from me. Mycroft Holmes**

Greg looked at the response he had received for the tenth time. He couldn’t think of anything that he wanted from Mycroft. He decided that he would save that favor for later, when he needed something.

There was a knock on his door and he opened it. “Can I help you?” he asked the man who was standing there.

“Good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” the man said politely,

“Do I know you?”

“Don’t recognize me?” the man asked with a smile, clear blue eyes piercing through the image that Greg presented to the world. “We met last night. I may have been incoherent.”

“You’re the other Holmes,” Greg said, realization dawning. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your first name.”

“Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes,” the man said, entering the flat and sitting down in a chair.

“Please, come on in,” Greg said, rolling his eyes.

“I hear I was correct about the murderer. That is rather satisfactory. I would like to do it again.”

“Get high and find a murder victim?” Greg asked, sitting down across from Sherlock.

“No, solve a crime. I’ve been thinking of it. I will be called a consulting detective. It will be ideal for me. When you are out of your depth, I will assist.”

“That would be extremely illegal,” Greg told him.

“Tell Mycroft to fix it. He can get permission for anyone to do anything.”

Greg considered this for a moment. He did have one request he could make of Mycroft. Though, he supposed, he could probably ask for a billion dollars. “I can’t have a drug addict solving crimes for me, regardless of your brother’s involvement.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Then I suppose I cannot use drugs.”

“I’m serious. If you take drugs at all, there will be no more helping on cases. We’re going to do drug tests at random to make sure you are clean. I will find someone I trust to administer them.”

Sherlock nodded excitedly. “Very good. When can we start?”

“Well, I have to make sure that I can get the permission for it and then we can see what murders fall into our laps.”

“Great! I will be in touch, Lestrade!” In a flash he was gone, leaving Greg wondering what had happened in the Holmes household when they were children to cause them to be that way.

Greg picked up his phone and called Mycroft. “Yes, Detective Inspector? What will it be? Money? Power?”

“I want Sherlock to be able to help me on cases without any risk of me facing disciplinary proceedings.”

“What?” The man sounded genuinely surprised, an emotion Greg was sure he rarely felt.

“He came to see me. He agreed to stop the drugs if I let him help on cases. I can’t very well allow him on cases without getting into trouble.”

“You want to waste this favor, this golden opportunity, to help my brother stop being a drug addict? Did you not consider other things you might do?”

“Your brother is a genius, that’s obvious. Think of the great things he could do if he were clean. Money isn’t that important. The life of a great man is.”

Mycroft was silent for a moment. “That is very admirable, Detective Inspector.”

“Please, call me Greg. No need to be formal if I’m going to be working with your brother.”

“Very well, Greg. I will do this on one condition.”

“I thought it could be anything without any conditions?” Greg asked.

“It could also be nothing.”

“Noted.”

“If I allow Sherlock to work with you, you will give me regular reports on his well-being. Monetary compensation is available for this.”

“I’m not going to let you pay me for information on your brother,” Greg said, a little annoyed. He took a deep breath and continued. “But I will meet you as a friend for dinner or a pint and let you know if your brother is doing okay or if he is struggling.”

The man on the other end of the phone breathed a sigh of relief. “Monthly?”

Greg chuckled. “Yes, we can meet monthly.”

“Splendid, thank you.”

***

Two days later, Greg had official word that he could use Sherlock as he wished on his cases. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to have anything for Sherlock to do for some time, but luckily there was a triple murder that was very complicated less than a week later. Greg called Sherlock in after having a friend of his administer a drug test that came back clean.

Sherlock resolved the case in much less time than it would have taken Greg’s team. He also insulted everyone involved, which Greg privately found hilarious, even when Sherlock insulted him. There was very little that would offend Greg, so he just laughed in his head and scowled outwardly, so he blended in with the rest of his team.

**Finished first case with Sherlock. Want to start our meetings? Greg**

**Dinner Thursday night? My treat. Mycroft**

**Sounds good. Pick an expensive place if you’re paying. Greg**

Greg dressed a bit nicer than usual on Thursday, afraid that Mycroft might actually pick a nice place. He wasn’t disappointed when he reached the restaurant, which was the sort of place Greg might go once in his life, for his golden anniversary or something.

“I feel like the poor relation,” Greg murmured across the table.

Mycroft grinned. “Trust me, the staff here is more impressed with my presence with an attractive man than with your clothing.”

“Do you not usually dine with attractive men?” Greg asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I normally dine with one attractive man in particular,” Mycroft told him. “My husband is a very jealous man.”

“Ah. I shall endeavor to look as un-datelike as possible,” Greg said with a smile.

Mycroft grinned. “Very good. Now, how is my brother doing?”

“Sherlock is okay. He passed the urine test. I was trying to think how he might have cheated it, but I’m not sure I’m smart enough to figure something like that out. He was observed giving the sample, usual drug test procedures.”

“Wonderful. He may have found a way to cheat it. I shall give it some thought and text you some extra procedures to follow to ensure that the sample came from him.”

“Lovely. I’m very pleased with how this is turning out,” Greg said, looking over the menu.

“As am I. Thank you for taking an interest in my brother. He need someone besides me who is interested in his well-being. He avoids me and resists my efforts to protect him.”

“He is quite a handful. You should have seen the faces of my team when he told them all about their lives.”

“Did he say anything to offend you?” Mycroft asked curiously.

“Nothing that actually offended me. He knows everything about me, obviously, and now so does my team, but that doesn’t offend me.”

“Curious.”

“What is?”

“That he does not offend you. Normally he offends everyone.”

“Well, it wasn’t for trying, it just didn’t particularly affect me.”

“I think I ought to warn you, he doesn’t date,” Mycroft said with a frown.

Greg laughed, tucking into his meal, which had just arrived. “I have less than no interest in dating your brother. He is not at all my type.”

“I know you call yourself straight, but you aren’t entirely,” Mycroft said slowly. “And Sherlock is very attractive to both men and women.”

“You’re right, I’m probably closer to bisexual than straight. But no, he isn’t my type. You are, however. It’s a shame you’re married.”

To his great surprise, Mycroft blushed. “Flirting would be inappropriate,” he said, looking down at his plate.

Greg was suddenly worried that he had upset Mycroft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was good natured, really. I understand that you’re married.”

Mycroft nodded. Greg tried to place the emotion in Mycroft’s eyes, which seemed strange. Fear? That couldn’t have possibly been it, a man like Mycroft wasn’t afraid of anything.

***

They continued meeting for dinner on a regular basis, ostensibly to talk about Sherlock and how he was doing. They always ended up talking about themselves at some point, chatting about their histories, what they wanted for the future, and how things were in the present. Greg came to look forward to their nights together, bitterly disappointed when one or the other of them had to cancel because of work.

One night, Mycroft surprised Greg by inviting him over to his house for dinner. Greg gladly accepted, wanting to meet the husband he had heard so much about. He arrived exactly on time, carrying the best bottle of wine he could afford. Mycroft greeted him at the door with a smile, thanking him politely for the bottle. “Come, meet James,” Mycroft said, leading him from the door.

“Good evening,” an attractive man greeted Greg when he reached the living room. He held out his hand to shake. “I’m James.”

“Good evening,” Greg said, shaking his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much, Mycroft talks about you constantly.”

“All nice things, I hope,” James said, putting his arm around Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Of course. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone more devoted to a spouse,” Greg said, not failing to notice that James looked like he was gripping Mycroft rather tightly.

James smiled, kissing Mycroft on the cheek. “How nice. I’m just going to pop into the kitchen to check on dinner,” he said with a nod at Greg, leaving.

“He seems very nice,” Greg said as Mycroft poured Greg a drink.

“He is very nice.” Mycroft sounded a bit strained, but Greg didn’t say anything or give any indication that he noticed.

“Your home is beautiful,” he said, looking around.

“That is entirely James’s fault. He is a genius when it comes to making a house lovely.”

James came back, carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “Those smell amazing,” Greg said appreciatively. “Thank you, James.”

Greg noticed little things throughout the dinner that made him slightly uncomfortable, like Mycroft looking at James for permission to do something or James gripping Mycroft’s hand tightly enough to hurt or James putting his hands under the table and Mycroft wincing. By the time dinner was over, Greg was sure that there was something wrong with the relationship. By the time he left the house, he was positive that Mycroft needed some kind of help in the situation. Greg had spent the early years of his career dealing with domestic abuse incidents and it all seemed far too familiar to him. He wouldn’t have gone so far as to say that Mycroft was being abused, but he would have bet anything that James was escalating toward abuse. Greg resolved to do something about it as he rode home, wanting more than anything to help Mycroft.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Sherlock was in Greg’s office just after a case finished. He was pacing around, making Greg uncomfortable. Greg decided to use the opportunity for some information. “Do you like your brother-in-law?” he asked.  
Sherlock looked up at him blankly. “Who?”

“James. Mycroft’s husband.”

Sherlock shrugged. “He’s fine, I suppose. I haven’t given them much thought.”

Greg frowned. He had been hoping that Sherlock would have nice things to say about the man and put Greg’s fears to rest. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen and Greg was left with a bad feeling about the situation. He tried to put it out of his mind, reminding himself that it was nothing to do with him if Mycroft were in a bad relationship.

He left it alone, continuing his semi-professional relationship with Mycroft. Eventually, he asked Mycroft over for a drink at his flar instead of going out to a restaurant, and Mycroft accepted. When he arrived, Greg met him at the door with a smile.

“I thought James was possessive,” Greg said after they had settled down in the living room with drinks. “He let you come here?”

“He does not allow me to do anything,” Mycroft said, looking surprised.

“Of course. I just meant, he didn’t mind you coming here?”

“Why would he mind? We are simply friends. And you’re straight, right?” Mycroft asked.

“Right.” Greg didn’t find it an appropriate time to mention that he was bisexual. He was positive that Mycroft knew anyway. “You two seem like very different people,” he said casually.

Mycroft smiled. The smile may have fooled someone who didn’t know him very well, but Greg had been meeting with him for nearly a year and the smile looked forced. “In some respects, we are very similar. We differ in others. Those differences make us a successful couple.”

“It’s nice to know that you’re being treated well,” Greg told him, searching his eyes for anything that would suggest something otherwise. He felt desperate to know what was really happening in Mycroft’s relationship.

Mycroft simply smiled that strained smile and changed the subject. A bit later, Greg was handing Mycroft another glass of wine, when it spilled on Mycroft’s shirt.

“Oh no!” Greg said, feeling awful. He was sure that Mycroft’s shirt cost more than a month of rent at Greg’s flat. “We should do something to that so it doesn’t stain.”

“That is hardly necessary,” Mycroft said, dabbing at the red spot with a handkerchief.

“Come on,” Greg said, pulling Mycroft up and starting to unbutton the shirt.

Mycroft pulled away as if Greg’s hands burned where they touched him. He buttoned his shirt up again, but not before Greg saw a large, yellowed bruise on Mycroft’s chest.

“What is that?” Greg asked, staring.

“It was an accident. I fell onto the back of a chair,” Mycroft said, avoiding Greg’s eyes.

Greg reached out and put his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders. “You can tell me if he’s hurting you. I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt by him.”

Mycroft took a large step back. “He’s not doing anything to me,” he said in a whisper. “No one can do anything to a man like me that I don’t want.”

Greg shook his head. “I’ve seen so many people be abused that you would never believe were victims.”

“I should be going,” Mycroft said, his eyes bright, like he was trying to hold back tears.

“You know how to reach me if you need anything. Please come to me if you want help.”

“You are being overly dramatic, Greg,” Mycroft told him, before leaving as if he were fleeing.

***

Mycroft avoided Greg for the next three months. Then Sherlock nearly got himself killed on a case and Mycroft needed an update on his brother, who was once again ignoring him. This update happened in Greg’s office and seemed like it was completely business. There was no joking or laughing about their lives or things that happened and Greg felt a loss, as if he had lost his best friend.

When Mycroft was leaving, Greg stood and touched his shoulder, stopping him. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Mycroft took a steadying breath and nodded. “We are wonderful.” Greg wasn’t fooled, but there was very little he could do without Mycroft’s cooperation.

“Remember our last conversation, what I offered,” Greg said, and then nodded goodbye, returning to his desk as Mycroft left. When the door was shut behind him, Greg put his head in his hands and took some breaths to calm his nerves, reminding himself that there was nothing he could do about Mycroft’s relationship problems, that he had to sit by and let it happen, at least until Mycroft wanted help.

It made Greg feel better that they resumed their meetings. After a few in Greg’s office, they began going out to dinner and pubs on a regular basis. Everything returned to normal and Greg breathed a sigh of relief, happy that he hadn’t completely ruined a friendship that he had really started to enjoy.

***  
It was late on a Saturday night. Greg had just gone to bed and was making a list of things he needed to do around the flat the next day. His phone rang, a non-work ring tone. He almost ignored it, but his curiosity about who could possibly be calling so late made him answer.

“I need you,” Mycroft’s voice whispered. “Help. James is bad. Help me, please.” The phone line went dead and Greg was out of bed and getting a taxi within two minutes. He called Sally for backup, telling her Mycroft’s address, while he was on his way, paying the cab drive extra to go as fast as possible. When he reached Mycroft’s building, he had to flash his badge to be let into the building, but after some pretty severe threats, he was allowed up.

He tried the door, but it was locked. Without even stopping to think, he kicked it in and rushed into the flat. He was greeted with silence. Afraid that something terrible had happened, Greg checked every room in the flat before going to the kitchen. What he saw almost made him pass out: Mycroft was lying on the floor, having been severely beaten. He fell to his knees beside him and moved to check for a pulse.

“What are you doing here?” an angry voice asked from the doorway. “You have no right to be here,” James said, stepping into the room.

Greg stood slowly. “James, I need to arrest you,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t succeeding very well, because he was so angry that he wanted to throttle James for what he had done.

“You need to get out of my flat,” James said, taking a threatening step forward.

The next few things happened so quickly that afterward Greg could hardly remember how it happened. James took a swing at Greg’s face, Greg ducked, grabbed his arm, and slammed his head into a nearby counter, which happened to be marble.

Greg pulled out his phone, unsteady on his feet. He sank to the floor next to Mycroft. He checked for a pulse with one hand as he dialed Sally with the other, grateful to feel a very weak pulse. He told her the new situation. She must have been able to hear something in his voice, because she immediately took control in a way she never had before. Greg made a mental note to promote her as he sat on the floor and tried ineffectually to wipe blood away from Mycroft.

When Sally got there, she put her hand on Greg’s shoulder as paramedics tended to the two injured men. She was talking, but Greg couldn’t hear her. All he could do was stare at Mycroft. The next thing he knew, he was being led away and an orange blanket was around his shoulders, for shock someone said. 

“How’s Mycroft?” he asked, looking up at Sally when she came to talk to him.

“He should be okay, boss. He’s on his way to the hospital. He’s lucky you found him. How did you come to know that he was in danger? He’s that friend of yours, right?”

“He called me. He said he needed help. I knew that his husband was trouble. I knew it was bad for him.” He looked up at her tearfully. “I should have been a better friend. I should have done more to help him. He was just so stubborn that nothing was wrong.”

Sally sighed. “Come on, Greg. We need to get you to the hospital to make sure you’re okay.

“I’m fine. Mycroft’s the one who is nearly dead because I am a terrible friend.”


	3. Chapter 3

Greg was taken to hospital to be checked over by the doctors there. When he received a clean bill of health, he went off in search of Mycroft. Because he wasn’t family, they wouldn’t give him any information at the desk, so he decided to wander the halls, looking for him.

Eventually, he ran into Sherlock, who was making a nuisance of himself with the nurses. “Sherlock! Where’s Mycroft?” he asked.

Sherlock gestured to a nearby door. “He’s in there, being impossible, as usual.”

“He’s awake?” Greg asked. He knocked on the door and let himself in. He was unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Mycroft was lying motionless in the bed, looking like he was near death.

Greg sat down next to him and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe that it had come to this, that Greg had let it go this far. He knew what was going on, he knew it almost from the first. Instead of doing what he should have done, which was press the issue, he was too afraid to lose the friendship and he told himself that Mycroft was an adult who could take care of himself. Greg knew all about domestic abuse, he should have done more.

“Greg,” a hoarse voice said and Greg looked up to see Mycroft’s bright eyes watching him.

“I’m so sorry, Mycroft. I should have done more,” Greg said, tears filling his eyes.

“Sorry? Why are you apologizing?”

“I should have stopped him.”

“Greg, you did stop him. Do you have any idea what he would have done if you hadn’t shown up?”

“He shouldn’t have been able to do everything that he did do,” Greg said bitterly. “I failed you as a friend.”

“You are being ridiculous,” Mycroft said softly. He reached out his hand and touched Greg’s joined hands gently. “There is no reason for you to feel guilty. You saved my life.”

“I should have been better,” Greg said despairingly, but fell silent, realizing that he was so caught up in his guilt that he wasn’t being a very supportive friend. He sat there for nearly an hour, until Sally came to get him.

“We need you to come into the office with us, boss,” she said quietly.

“Why?” Greg asked.

“Because you killed James,” Mycroft said quietly.

“What?” Greg asked, whipping his head around to look at Mycroft. “I did what?”

“Those marble counters he insisted on were a rather bad decision,” Mycroft said drily.

Greg was filled with horror. He had never killed a man with his bare hands before. He hadn’t seen what happened to James after he threw him into the counter, but he never for a moment thought that he was dead. He was seized with panic and grief at what he had done: even if James had nearly killed Mycroft, Greg didn’t want him dead. Greg followed Sally out of the hospital, his head spinning. He couldn’t process what was happening. Was he going to be arrested? Were they going to put him into prison? It seemed completely unreal. Greg was led to Sally’s desk.

“Should we be in an interview room?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “There’s something you need to see here. And we owe you more than an interview room.” She pointed at a chair and he sat. Sally turned the computer monitor. There was a slightly fuzzy picture of Mycroft’s kitchen on it. Sally clicked on something, and after a moment, Mycroft came into view.

“They have security cameras in the kitchen?” Greg asked.

“It’s a security feature. If anything happens, Mycroft inputs a code into the security panel and the cameras are activated. There are several videos like this: it seems he regularly recorded what happened in this way,” Sally explained.

James came into view. He looked very angry. Mycroft was holding his hands out like he was begging. James was yelling, advancing on Mycroft. Mycroft back up, but was caught against the counter. James hit him across the face. Mycroft put up his hands to defend against the blows, but James held his wrists in one hand and beat him with the other.

“It’s lucky there isn’t audio,” Greg said. “This is terrible.”

“There is,” Sally said. She clicked something else and the speakers clicked on.

Mycroft was shouting something about his face and people finding out. James was speaking quietly, in a voice that was incongruous with the severity of his attack. He assured Mycroft that marks on his face wouldn’t matter, because no one would be seeing his face ever again.

Greg felt ill. In all of his years as a police detective, he had never actually seen and heard the attack. He reached for the nearest trash bin and violently ejected the contents of his stomach. While he had his face buried in the bin, all he could hear was Mycroft’s screams and then...nothing. Silence. He looked up through his tears and saw Mycroft lying on the kitchen floor, where Greg had found him.

The camera view switched to the bedroom. James was looking in a drawer for something. He pulled out a gun and Greg felt his stomach drop. James had actually been planning on murdering Mycroft. James looked up, like he heard a noise, then tucked the gun into the waistband of his trousers. He left the room and the view switched back to the kitchen, where Greg was kneeling by Mycroft.

Greg watched, horrified, as James swung, Greg grabbed him, and threw him with all of his strength into the counter. Greg couldn’t keep his eyes away from his own face in that moment: he was cold, efficient, murderous. He remembered feeling anger and pain and worry for Mycroft, but he didn’t know that his face would show those emotions as murderous intent. He put his head in his hands as Sally showed up in the video and it clicked off.

“So?” Sally asked gently. “What do you think?”

“What?” Greg croaked, unable to look up.

“What do you think about the video? It’s pretty clear, to me.”

“I agree. It’s clear,” Greg said. “I understand that you have to place me under arrest.”

“Under arrest? Boss, I’m not arresting you.”

“What? I killed a man. You have it on video.”

“What I have on video is you defending yourself against a man who was attempting murder. You protected yourself and you saved a life. You’re a hero.”

“Then why don’t I feel like a hero?” Greg asked despairingly. “I feel like a murderer.”

“You feel like a murderer because you’re a good man who was in a bad situation. You did what was necessary. It doesn’t make it any easier.” She reached out and took his hand.

Greg looked up at her. If he were pressed to describe Sally Donovan, “caring” would not have been the first word to come to mind, more like the last. But here she was, showing that she cared about him, trying to make him feel better about what had happened. He must have done something right to inspire that sort of loyalty, he thought. Or perhaps she was right and he was the good guy in the situation.

“May I go home?” he asked, his voice sounding very small to his ears.

She nodded. “I’ll have someone drive you. Get some sleep. It’s late, everything will look better in the morning.”

“I’ll be taking some time off as well.”

“We already have you down for paid leave for the next week, more if you need it. You needn’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

“Thank you, Sally,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand before leaving.

When he made it home, he collapsed into bed, pulled the blanket over his head, and went to sleep without thinking any more about anything.

***

The next few days were incredibly hard for Greg. He cloistered himself in his flat, not taking calls or answering the door. Several people tried to get into touch with him, but he did not have the emotional energy to deal with anyone. He wanted to just be alone and for everyone to understand that. He spent hours going over what had happened in his head. It didn’t make sense to him that he could have killed someone. He had seen so many bodies in his career and so few of them had been connected to him in any way.

He sent his thoughts back to the few times he had met James, to the feeling he had every time he saw James and Mycroft together: he knew that James was abusive. He knew from the first moment he saw them together that once they were alone, James was mistreating Mycroft. He knew that his friend, his confident, powerful friend, was terrified of his husband, terrified of making any mistake that James might see for fear of what he might do. It had bothered him, knowing that, and he thought about what he could have possibly done to change things, what he could have done differently to get Mycroft out of there safely, with James securely in prison.

He wondered why Mycroft would have put up with it. He had never met someone as powerful as Mycroft and he never would. He didn’t know precisely what Mycroft did, but he knew that he at least partially controlled the government. How could someone who was so in control professionally be so out of control personally? He didn’t think anyone would believe the situation Mycroft had been in unless they had seen it for themselves. He hoped that Mycroft’s career would not be derailed by this mess. If it were, he wasn’t sure what Mycroft was going to do. His whole life was about work and it wasn’t as if he had a different career to fall back on. Mycroft had told Greg that he had been in training for his position since he was a teenager.

Greg rubbed his eyes and stood up, looking around. He needed to get out of his flat. It had been four days, it was time for him to go somewhere. He showered and dressed, trying to think of a place to go. He considered going out for a meal, but he didn’t want to be alone and surrounded by happy people. A pub was also out, because he was worried that if he started drinking, he would overdo it. He briefly considered going to Sherlock’s flat, but dismissed that as ridiculous. Sherlock lived in a hole and even if he hadn’t, he was hardly the company one wanted when he was feeling depressed.

Greg decided on going to see the one person who he knew could make him feel better: Mycroft. He wasn’t sure if Mycroft would be in a position to cheer Greg up, but Greg knew that any interaction with Mycroft was sure to make him feel better. Any reminder that Mycroft was alive would be better than Greg’s regrets.

Greg went to the hospital and found Mycroft’s room again. When he knocked, Sherlock threw the door open almost immediately. “Finally, Lestrade!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes!”

“I didn’t tell anyone that I was coming here,” Greg said, narrowing his eyes. 

“I calculated the time it would take you to decide that you needed to be around other people and to decide that Mycroft was the best person for that. I was off by twenty minutes, so I must have had some variable wrong. What age did you start experiencing puberty?”

“Sod off,” Greg said, pushing Sherlock to the side and walking into the room.

Mycroft was sitting up in bed, typing rapidly on a computer. He smiled when he saw Greg. “Good morning, Greg.”

“Good morning, Mycroft,” Greg said, sitting down next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“I am well. Not, perhaps, as well as I would wish, but I am better than initially after the attack.”

“I should have stopped it,” Greg said, his guilt rushing back as he looked at his friend, bruised all over.

“Nonsense, Greg. You could not have stopped it and thinking like that will only cause problems. You did the best that you could do in a bad situation and you saved my life, and probably yours, with your quick actions. For that, you have my sincerest gratitude.”

Greg nodded. He didn’t want to harp on about his guilt, so he let it go for the moment. He knew he would feel it for a while, so it might do him some good to ignore it for the present anyway. “When do you get out of here?”

“Three days. I am currently attempting to locate proper accommodations.”

“Proper acc--oh, of course you don’t want to go home.”

“It was always more James’s home than mine. I plan to stay at a hotel for the time being, until I decide what I am going to do.” He paused for a moment, surveying Greg. “Actually, I have a request for a favor.”

“Anything, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smiled. “Don’t tempt me. Will you please stay with me for a few days? I could hire a security staff, but I would feel safer with someone i know is personally invested in my well-being. And I trust you more than anyone to protect me. I am finding myself having some trouble sleeping and relaxing.” He glanced at the door.

Greg hadn’t thought that Mycroft might be having trouble. He kicked himself for not coming sooner. “Of course I’ll stay with you. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“Again, you have my gratitude.” Mycroft reached out a hand and Greg grasped it. They sat there like that for a few moments, neither of them willing to let go. Greg felt comforted by the hand, happy for the reminder that Mycroft was okay.

“What are you doing about work?” Greg asked suddenly.

“My assistant is handling the day-to-day. The big things, I am taking care of here. I’m long overdue for a holiday, so I’m using that time for my recuperation.”

“So the whole situation isn’t bad for you? Other than the obvious.” Greg blushed and looked away. He felt foolish, like he didn’t fully understand what was going on in Mycroft’s life.

Mycroft smiled. “There really isn’t anyone to make the situation bad. I am what you might call in charge, so my dysfunctional personal life will not affect me as long as I am able to do my work.”

“You’re in charge?” Mycroft nodded. “Of the British Government?” Mycroft hesitated and then nodded again.

“It seems fantastical, I understand. There is no need for you to worry about that aspect of my life, is what I meant.”

Greg nodded. He was a bit suspicious of anyone claiming to be “in charge” of the government, but he wasn’t concerned about that at the moment. He was more worried about getting Mycroft healthy so he could continue doing whatever it was that he did for many years to come. 

Mycroft yawned as his eyes started to drift shut. He leaned back on the pillows and seemed to doze off. Greg relaxed as well, watching him sleep. Suddenly, Mycroft sat bolt upright, gasping. Greg was at his side in an instant, with his hand resting gently on

Mycroft’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he said soothingly. “Go back to sleep.”

Mycroft looked up at him gratefully and closed his eyes, relaxing again. Greg pulled his chair closer and held Mycroft’s hand while he sleep, trying to be a comforting presence. Mycroft’s breathing was soon regular and even as he slept and Greg leaned back in his chair again, leaving his hand where it was, and watched him sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft was released from the hospital three days later. Greg accompanied him to the hotel, having taken his bag there that morning. Mycroft’s assistant had brought Mycroft’s clothes to the hotel already and was there when they arrived. “I’d like to do some work,” Mycroft said. He looked tired, but Greg didn’t say anything. He just smiled and watched Mycroft go to the desk that sat in the corner.

The hotel suite had four rooms: a large main room with a desk, some chairs, and a fireplace; a large, sumptuous loo; a master bedroom with the biggest bed Greg had ever seen; and a smaller bedroom that looked more like the type of hotel room Greg was used to. There was nowhere to prepare food, but Greg suspected that was by design; Mycroft more than likely did not want to be near a kitchen, considering that his husband had done all the cooking and had nearly killed him in the kitchen. It was always easier and less mess to order in anyway.

Greg went into the bedroom part of the suite to retrieve the book he was reading and smiled at Anthea, who was putting things away in a chest of drawers. “I have not had a chance to express my gratitude,” she said with a small smile.

“Gratitude?”

“Mister Holmes is important to me. I appreciate that you were there to save him.”

“Did you know? About James?”

Her face darkened. “In my line of work, it would not be appropriate for me to comment on that, sir.” She paused as she was walking past him to leave. “I will say, however, that I do not regret his death.”

Greg smiled, but he didn’t feel it. Personally, he didn’t care who it was, he did not want to be responsible for the death of anyone. He returned to the main room of the suite and sat in a chair with his book. “Do you need anything?” he asked Mycroft, who was sitting at his desk, spectacles perched on his nose, typing on his computer.

“No, Greg. Thank you.”

“Okay. I’ll just be here. Let me know if I can get you anything.” He opened his book to begin reading and was soon fast asleep.

The next thing he knew, Mycroft was shaking him awake. “Greg, are you alright?” he asked quietly.

Greg blinked sleep from his eyes and looked at him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You were crying in your sleep,” Mycroft said with a frown.

Greg closed his eyes and sighed. “I was dreaming about that night.”

“About killing James?” Greg nodded and Mycroft rubbed Greg’s arm comfortingly. “Don’t think about him. Think about me. Focus on saving me instead.”

Greg thought about it. He looked at Mycroft, whose face was covered with examples of James being a terrible person. He sighed and looked down at Mycroft’s hand, which had rested on his shoulder. On impulse, Greg kissed Mycroft’s hand. When he looked back up at Greg, worried about his reaction, Mycroft was smiling.

They spent the rest of the afternoon working and reading. For dinner, they ordered Indian and split the dishes they ordered. They ended up sitting at the table long past when they should have packed up the leftovers, talking and laughing. Greg hadn’t seen

Mycroft really laugh in some time, so he was very happy as he watched Mycroft nearly choke on his food because he was laughing so hard.

When it was time to go to bed for the night, Greg said goodnight before heading to the smaller bedroom in the suite. He was preparing for bed when he looked up to see Mycroft hovering in the doorway.

“I was wondering… Well, I haven’t been able to sleep well without you in the room since it happened. I feel much more secure with you there. Is it possible for you to maybe…” he trailed off, looking lost.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Greg asked. “That’s fine. Maybe the hotel has something they can set up in the room for us.”

“Oh no, you needn’t sleep on the floor. The bed is so big…”

Greg tried to hide his blush with a friendly smile. “I’ll be in there in a moment.”

Mycroft nodded and disappeared. When Greg made his way into the larger bedroom, Mycroft was sitting in the bed, under the covers. Greg noticed that he was wearing pajamas buttoned all the way up to his neck.

“Do you ever unbutton?” Greg asked, climbing into the other side. He was wearing an old shirt and some shorts. He normally slept nude, but he decided that for the hotel stay, he would wear something to sleep. “I finally see you not in a suit and you’re in those pajamas.”

“I like to leave everything to the imagination,” Mycroft said, sounding nervous. “I apologize if that is frustrating to you.”

“Oh, trust me, my imagination is perfectly active,” Greg said and then winced. He had forgotten himself. Normally he flirted with everyone he found attractive, but this situation was obviously different. He glanced over at Mycroft, who was blushing. Oh. _Oh._

Well, that was interesting.

“It is very late,” Mycroft said, leaning back against the pillows.

“It is. I’m here if you need anything.” Greg leaned back as well, relaxing. The bed was incredibly comfortable and the sheets were obviously the best that money could buy.

Greg awoke to the sound of gasping and whimpering. He sat up and leaned over so that he could put his hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Sh,” he whispered comfortingly, “I’m here, Mycroft. Everything is okay.”

Mycroft’s eyes snapped open and he looked at Greg. He was crying and shaking. Greg slid over in the bed and put his arms around him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he whispered, not sure what else to do.

Mycroft turned his head so that his face was buried in Greg’s neck. “I can’t believe he actually went that far. I never thought he’d do that. Just the occasional push or trip, maybe a slap here and there. Nothing I couldn’t handle, nothing that could leave marks on my face.”

“You shouldn’t have had to ‘handle’ that much, Mycroft,” Greg said quietly, rocking gently from side to side. “He never should have put his hands on you like that. Especially if he loved you.”

“Why not? That’s what they all do.”

“Men?” Greg asked and Mycroft nodded. Greg sighed and held him tighter. “Men shouldn’t be hurting you. They should be cherishing you, holding you close and making you feel safe.”

“Like you do,” Mycroft whispered.

“Like I do. Like I want to do. Like I would give anything to do,” Greg whispered back. “You are brilliant, hilarious, and so sexy. You deserve to be with a man who is going to treat you well. To treat you like the wonder that you are.”

“I’m hardly sexy. I need to lose weight. And I have a certain aptitude for governing, but other than that…”

“Other than that you are witty and clever and a great conversationalist. You are caring and sweet sometimes and hard other times. You are sexy and you certainly don’t need to lose any weight. You are the greatest man I have ever known or will know. I feel honored to know you, amazed that you call me your friend.”

“Why are you saying these things?”

“Because they’re true. And I have a feeling that you have been torn down enough in your life and you need someone to build you up.”

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg, his breathing slowing as he fell asleep. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Anything for you, Mycroft.”

***

The next morning, Greg woke up with his arms still around Mycroft, Mycroft’s arms still wrapped around Greg’s middle. He would have thought that the position would be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. He smiled down at Mycroft, who was also waking up.

“Good morning,” Mycroft said sleepily.

“Morning,” Greg said back. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Oh, nothing for me, thanks,” Mycroft said, sitting up.

“You have to eat something, even if it’s simply a piece of toast,” Greg told him firmly.

“Yes, sir,” Mycroft said with a smile as they both stood.

Their second day in the hotel suite was spent much the same as the first. Neither of them were inclined to go out of the room, so they ordered food in and ate together at the small table in the main room of the suite. While they were eating dinner, Greg reached out and took Mycroft’s hand. “I’m glad we’re friends,” he said quietly.

“I am as well,” Mycroft said with a small smile. 

“If you want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Not right now. But probably soon.”

While they were getting ready for bed that night, after Greg had made sure that Mycroft wanted him in there again, Mycroft sighed, sat on the bed, and patted the bed next to him for Greg to sit down. Greg sat obediently, wondering what he was going to hear.

“I have spent my entire life trying to excel at everything and I have succeeded in nearly all aspects of my life. I once told you that they selected me for my position when I was very young. At fifteen, my life path was more or less entirely decided for me. I had agreed, of course, but if I had known…ah, well, nothing to do about that now. By the time I was seventeen, I was in my first long-term relationship. He was one of my mentors, actually. He did this,” Mycroft lifted up his pajama shirt to show a line of cigarette burns on his side. Greg couldn’t stop himself from gasping and he put his hand to his mouth to stifle any more noises. “My second and third relationships were no better. I have no lasting scars from them, but other types, perhaps. James was sweet when we met. He was horrified about my previous relationships and he promised he would never hurt me. He kept that promise until after we were married.” Mycroft’s eyes drifted closed and he stopped talking.

Greg tried to wipe his eyes sneakily, but Mycroft opened his eyes in time to see the action. “I’m sorry,” Greg said, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s hard to hear.”

Mycroft nodded. “James was always careful not to hit my face, where it would leave marks. Very considerate of him. I suppose I was in a bit of denial. I did not want to admit that it was happening all over again. When he started, I just pretended that it wasn’t happening. If I didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t real. It seems silly now. How I could let it happen again. I can run a country, but I cannot pick a normal man. And when perhaps the only kind, decent man I have ever known tries to help, I push him away. I was just so scared of what would happen. I tried to leave him.”

“What?’ Greg asked, looking up sharply.

“I suppose since I’m coming clean now, I might as well tell you everything. I told him that I wanted a divorce. He asked why and I stupidly told him the truth.”

“Which was?”

“That I had fallen in love with someone else.”

Greg’s heart stopped. Who could Mycroft possibly love? Someone else who would hurt him? “Who?”

“You,” Mycroft said quietly, looking away. “I am sure you don’t feel the same way, but it wasn’t fair to remain with him when I was having feelings like that. Or so I thought. That’s when he…well.”

“I’m so sorry,” Greg said. He caressed Mycroft’s face gently. When Mycroft turned to look at him, his mouth open to speak, Greg kissed the corner of his lips, letting his face rest against Mycroft’s for a moment. “I love you too, Mycroft.”

“What?” Mycroft asked, sounding amazed.

“I love you. I have for a while. But we can’t be together. Not yet.”

“Why not?” Mycroft’s expression moved from amazement to confusion.

“Because you need some time for yourself. I’m still here for you. I’m still spending time with you. I’ll hold you if you need or want that. I’ll watch over you while you sleep. I’ll stay with you as long as you want. But I think it would be a mistake to go too fast right now. You need to learn what a real relationship is, what it’s like with a man who loves you and who would do anything for you.”

Mycroft was staring at him as if he might cry. He buried his face in Greg’s neck and let out a long, shaky breath. “You are amazing,” he whispered.

Greg chuckled. “I was worried you would be upset when I said that.” He had been planning it for days, not necessarily about Greg, but telling Mycroft that he needed to take a break from relationships. The whole time he had been thinking about just what he’d like to say he was nervous, hoping that Mycroft wouldn’t take offense. Now he could breathe a sigh of relief, because it had gone well.

“I would like if you stayed,” Mycroft said, leaving his head on Greg’s shoulder but pulling back so his face wasn’t buried. “I really enjoyed you holding me last night.”

“I enjoyed holding you.”


	5. Chapter 5

When they went to bed, they weren’t shy. Mycroft curled up in Greg’s arms and Greg kissed the top of his head affectionately, holding him securely until they both fell asleep. They both slept well, wrapped in each other’s arms.

The next day, Greg found Mycroft poking at his face in the mirror. “You look fine,” Greg said quietly.

“I have an appointment to look at some new flats today. I wish the evidence of what he did weren’t so obvious on my face,” he said with a sigh.

“If anyone asks, all you do is laugh and say ‘You should see the other guy.’” Greg told him with a smile.

Mycroft looked at him and raised one eyebrow. “Do you imagine that I would say such a thing?”

“You? Probably not. I would, though.”

“Then we must all be thankful that I am not you. Do you have plans for the day?”

“No. I guess I’ll finish my book.”

“I would appreciate your opinion on the flats,” Mycroft said casually.

“Are you asking me to help you pick out a flat?” Greg asked with a teasing smile on his face.

“If that is how you choose to interpret my words,” Mycroft replied, putting the finishing touches on his appearance.

Greg couldn’t help himself; he wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s middle, burying his face in Mycroft’s suit-covered back. “It’s nice to see you acting normally,” he whispered.

Mycroft put his hands over Greg’s clasped hands and squeezed. After a moment, he pulled away and spun to smile at Greg. “You need to dress yourself. The appointment is in an hour.”

Greg was amazed at all of the flats they saw. He wouldn’t have been able to afford any of them in his wildest dreams: they had the best views of the city and the Thames, the fanciest kitchens and loos, and the most expensive furnishings. When they were on the way back to the hotel, Greg suggested they take a walk in the park. They paused in their walk to sit on a bench, Greg noticing that Mycroft seemed a little quiet.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“None of them were what I want,” Mycroft told him quietly.

“Well, what do you want?”

“I do not know. All of those flats were just like my old flat, the one I shared with James. They were just like him: flashy, beautiful, and terrible.”

“I wish I could help. I’m rubbish at things like that, though. You should see my flat. It’s a hole compared to the sort of place you live.”

Mycroft smile. “I am sure your flat is lovely. Come, we should arrange some dinner.” He stood, holding his hand out for Greg, who took it.

They were walking to the hotel when a woman Greg had never seen before called Mycroft’s name. “Oh, no,” Mycroft said quietly, but he put a smile on his face and greeted the woman with his usual small smile. “Good evening, Karen.”

“Good evening! Oh dear, what happened to your face?” her eyes flicked to Greg, down to their joined hands, and then back up to Mycroft’s face. “Who is your friend?”

Mycroft was as cool as ever. It was chilling the way he could switch from being vulnerable and sweet with Greg to being powerful and cold with everyone else. “Oh, James and I had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

“Yes, he misunderstood my disgust with him for wanting to be beaten nearly to death. Luckily, my friend Greg was able to sort James out just fine,” he glanced at Greg, who tried to look not horrified at how Mycroft was explaining the situation.

“And how is James looking these days?” she asked, trying to make a joke.

“I wouldn’t know. If you’d like to inquire after him, he is currently in the morgue, I believe.”

The woman’s eyes widened and she looked at Greg as if she were scared of him. “You had someone kill James?”

“Not quite,” Greg broke in. Mycroft’s grip on Greg’s hand had tightened quite a bit and Greg could tell that he needed out of the conversation. “I was defending my friend and unfortunately the situation escalated and deadly force was necessary. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade,” he introduced himself with a smile.

“That doesn’t sound like James.”

“In twenty years on the police force, I have found that people are often one thing in public and quite another in private.” He glanced at Mycroft, who still had his normal, slightly bored, I’m-smarter-than-everyone expression on his face.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Detective Inspector. Goodbye, Mycroft.” She walked away, looking disturbed.

Greg tried a smile at Mycroft, but it wasn’t returned. “I know you wanted to keep the whole situation quiet, but I’m afraid that you’ll have many more interactions like that if the situation isn’t reported,” he said as they resumed walking.

Mycroft nodded. “I will ensure that it is appropriately reported. That was very uncomfortable.”

***

The next day, Greg stared at the newspaper with horror. There was a still from the surveillance video, of James holding the gun that he had nearly used to kill Mycroft. There was also a small photo of Greg next to the article, which praised him for his quick actions in saving the life of a “minor government official”, who had nearly been murdered by his husband. It mentioned that “the resulting altercation unfortunately resulted in the death of the abusive husband,” but didn’t go into any more details.

“Is it bad?” Mycroft asked from across the small table.

“It’s different to see it in print than in my memories. They certainly picked a good image from that video to vilify him.”

“He deserves it. Your guilt over his death is wrong. He deserved what happened and you were right for what you did.” Mycroft reached out and caressed Greg’s hand.

“You’re right. It’s still hard for me. I worry that I wanted to kill him so that I could be in a relationship with his husband.”

“That’s because you’re a good man,” Mycroft told him with a small smile. “He deserved it. You did the right thing, Greg.”

“One day I may see it that way, but not today.”

***

They stayed in the hotel for another week while looking for a new flat for Mycroft. Mycroft didn’t like anywhere they looked, finding something wrong with each new place. He said that he wasn’t sure exactly why he couldn’t live in any of those places, he just knew that he couldn’t. He spent hours looking at new places and scouring the Internet for a flat that would fit his tastes, with no luck.

“Can we stop at my flat?” Greg asked on their way back to the hotel from the most recent round of rejected flats. “There are some books I’d like to pick up.”

“Of course,” Mycroft said, giving the address to the driver. “I can hardly remember what your flat looks like. It seems so long since I’ve seen it.”

“Well, it’s certainly nothing like the ones we’ve been visiting, that’s for sure.”

“Probably a good thing,” Mycroft said. “Most of them have been terrible.”

They arrived at Greg’s flat and he let them in. “I’m just going to look for the books, feel free to make yourself at home,” he said to Mycroft and went into the bedroom to look for what he wanted.

It took him a while, but he managed to locate the pile of books that he had been planning to read for years. He noticed that he hadn’t heard any noise from Mycroft while he had been digging for them in his closet. Wondering what Mycroft had been doing to occupy himself, he went back into the living room and was surprised to find Mycroft sound asleep on the couch.

Greg sat down in his chair and opened the first book, beginning to read it.

When Mycroft woke up, over an hour later, he sat up sleepily and looked at Greg, confused. “What happened?” he asked. “Did I fall asleep?”

Greg chuckled. “Yes, love. It’s been an hour.”

“I can’t remember the last time I fell asleep on a couch.” He looked around the room. “It must be this flat. Everything in it reminds me of you. It makes me feel safe.”

Greg considered him for a moment. He had certainly looked comfortable, stretched out asleep on the couch, snoring lightly. “Do you want to move in here? It’s small, but I can make some room for your things.”

“Live here?” Mycroft looked around the room again as if the idea would have never occurred to him. “I am very comfortable here, more comfortable than I have been in any of the other flats. Yes, yes I will move in here.” He smiled at Greg, looking happier than

Greg had ever seen him.

Greg grinned. “Brilliant. I will start making room right now. Maybe after a few months we can look for a bigger place, one that suits both of us.”

“I think anywhere that suits you would suit me just fine,” Mycroft told him.

***

Within a week, Greg was back in his flat, Mycroft had moved in, and they were both back at work, with their crazy hours and rarely having time to see each other. Life settled down into a comfortable pattern. Mycroft seemed happy in the flat and with Greg.

Their relationship was a strange one: they spent all of their free time together and went on dates, but they never did anything more physical than a kiss on the cheek and cuddling while they slept. Greg wanted Mycroft to take a break from an intense physical relationship and Mycroft agreed with him that it was a good idea. It wasn’t always easy, but when Greg was filled with want he reminded himself that he needed to do what was best for Mycroft, not his own selfish wants.

Nearly a year after they began living together, Greg arrived home after a long, exhausting day, to see the flat filled with lit candles, a small table set for dinner in the middle of the room. “What’s this?” he asked Mycroft, who was standing by the table, waiting for him. “Are you trying to burn the flat down?”

Mycroft smiled. “I thought we might have dinner in tonight.”

“Okay,” Greg said happily, giving Mycroft a hug.

Mycroft pulled back slightly and then reached out and touched Greg’s face. “You are amazing,” he said, his voice low and sexy. Greg grinned and was about to respond, when Mycroft leaned forward and kissed Greg on the lips. Surprised, Greg froze and Mycroft took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into Greg’s mouth, which was slightly open from shock.

Before he knew what he was doing, Greg kissed Mycroft back. Out of instinct, he took control of the kiss, holding Mycroft to him tightly. When they broke apart, Greg stared at Mycroft. “What was that?” he asked, licking his lips.

“It has been a year, Greg,” Mycroft told him. “I’m ready for you. More than ready for you. I need you.”

Greg kissed him with passion he hadn’t felt since he was a young man, wanting Mycroft more than he had ever wanted anyone in his entire life. He let his hands slide down Mycroft’s back and cup his arse. He lifted him up off the ground, Mycroft taking the hint and wrapping his legs around Greg’s waist. Greg carried him into the bedroom and lay him down on the bed, straddling him and moving down to kiss his neck.

Mycroft moaned and fumbled with Greg’s belt. He slid his hand into Greg’s pants, closing it around Greg’s hardening cock and stroking it slowly. Greg pulled back, making eye contact with Mycroft. “Are you sure?” he asked, searching Mycroft’s eyes for any hint of hesitation.

Mycroft smiled at him. “I have never been more sure of anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel emotionally exhausted by this story. I think that means it's time for some fluff! I will write something nice and fluffy to post tomorrow. I hope everyone enjoyed this!


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